the lost song lyrics / [open]

[hakar]

ooc. I would love Exodus to join this, as it'd be great if it were Hakar tried and tested for admittance into the Salen pack. C:

The roots of the forest misted around under his feet in the alternating vision allowed him by the heavy fog. Hakar grumbled thoughtfully; the sudden increase in fog would mean he was near a body of water. Well, what the hell does that do for me? Lashing out unexpectedly in the direction of a small mushroom cap (innocent but for its unfortunate habit of being in the wrong place at the wrong time), the enormous grey wolf allowed some of his anger to dissipate. Whose fault was it he was lost?

Fog.

He refused staunchly to admit he might have anything to do with what he viewed as a clear failure. For all that he was a powerful-looking creature, he was subject to the same flaws of his personality as his weaker cousins.

Hakar was an effectively built wolf; there had often been speculation about possibly mixed heritage, particularly including Arctic relatives, but to his knowledge, Romeo Hakar was entirely Grey wolf. His body was thick, though still tall and rangy, as pertaining to the natural standard of his race. His legs were well-muscled and bore the familiar scars along them of a traveler and fighter; as a loner, he had spent much of his time doing both.

And these, his physical traits, marked his mentality well.
He was a forecful, direct and often blunt personality with a certain sense of pride over others, perhaps un-merited, but existent none-the-less. Hakar had a debater's wit and determination and was neither flighty nor afraid to back down from a fight. Unfortunately, this left him prone to injury and at constant risk, as he was not the best judge of what was good or bad for him.

His eyes were the paled green of forest lichen, and nearly as interesting when he wasn't paying attention, unlike the present where he scanned the wilderness with the desperate air of one looking for an escape. He let his attention wander often and it was easily mistaken for slowness, though Hakar was undeniably quick-witted. Hakar was also posessed of a very protective side to his multi-faceted personality, be it over a belonging, or even another wolf (especially someone considered a "pack-mate"). This didn’t cause him to snap unnecessarily over-often, but it meant he did not find it easy to let go of things close to him; he may have appeared touchy or over-protective.

Not that he had any pack to protect. None would take him; and if he continued in this manner none would. "You lousy shit," he muttered, "Show me game, I'll kill it. Show me an enemy, I'll probably kill him too. Give me a forest, and I'll get good and lost in it."

At a glance he appeared handsome, but on closer inspection it became apparent that he was one of those wolves who was more striking than truly attractive. Hakar was clearly in possession of a face which was hard to forget, but he was not truly a picture of conventional comeliness; and part of this was force of personality, certainly. And it was in full swing to-day.

Respectful and constantly strategically aware, someone holding, and with a right to hold, more power than he himself, was untouchable. Call it what you will; diplomatic immunity, cowardice. It was damn smart and it kept him alive. However, barring that, Hakar was used to ruling the roost. This year he had blossomed and as he was now what he considered well into his second year (three long and hard-going months), he demanded the respect of his age from any without land, and occasionally those who had. Only of the common-garden scouting variety, typically, but he was not limited and was more than happy to terrorise the packs.

This was why he needed one of his own.

A strong, aimless male wandering the forests in his prime could mean hell for the packs, even if only in the form of running about siring puppies in fifteen different territories, and beside that he was lonely. Unfortunately, he'd had some family issues.

Ah well. Back to the task at hand. What he really needed... what he desperately, desperately wanted, was to find out where the hell in the Acerbus he was and where the hell in the world he was supposed to fidn the alpha. Hakar snarled under his breath and, with a last, healthy blow aimed in the face of the innocent by-standing mushroom, he headed of into the wood again, with a new sense of purpose.

He figured if he walked long enough, he'd come out the other side.

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[towne]

She had spent the last few weeks traveling up the Aughgar river.

The black female stepped in a rhythm that was slightly off, her back legs always just off tempo. Her front end moved with a certain grace, however, and though her head was not held high, her size made it seem as if she were regal. Her pelt was black, though appeared to be gray because of the aged fur mixing with her original coat. The fae's eyes were held level, taking in the beauty of the Chamoru Plains, and her nostrils flaring, loving the scent and the sound of the water that coursed through the veins of the Aughgar.

Mmm, how enjoyable the spring was in the Plains. Wildflowers sprouted in a misshapen pattern that danced around the long grass. Gossamer petals and flurries of pollen floated across her nose, which brought a smile to her face and a tickle on her nose. Towne lifted her head, closed her eyes, and breathed in the night air, bathing under the light of the crescent moon. It seemed that such a beautiful journey was a rare experience, one to be taken just as she had, for the moment might be gone in just a moment's time. Yet, she had taken this route so many times, the grass bowed at her presence as she stepped upon the familiar path.

Step, step, step-step. Towne's hind legs alternated limps, though she felt very little pain. There was an ache that originated in her hips, that would sometimes tear across her rotator cuff, but she knew the herbs for that. Fortunately for her, the Occassus and Chamoru held a beautiful array of painkillers that had kept her head in place for the last five or so years.

It had only been three days since she last traveled this route, but then, it had been in the light. Now, at dusk, Towne released such a joy into the air that the whole island might have felt it. It was a night like this that reminded her why she had chosen the Plains to live. What a pleasant place they were, always! No snow, to boot, which let her aging hips take the least of fatigue. She missed the snow, however. In her wanderings, she had taken trips up the Kinath, it's winding peaks providing her adventurous spirit with a cause for exaltation. How she wanted to climb it again! Towne shook her head, a small smile appearing on her face. Age was both cruel, soft, beautiful, and ugly. One could be perfectly healthy in mind, but the body fails always before the soul does.

Towne was simply determined that her soul would never fail, but instead, stay on.

She imagined her soul as a beautiful thing. Towne's soul would be the color of the foam on the sea, the brilliant, shining reflection of the sky in a shallow pool of water. It would shine like the stars, and have a trails of chestnut and caramel draping off the sides, always shimmering and drifting with the wind. Eternal. It was hard not to see it that way, judging by her exterior. Towne was extremely attractive in her prime days, though she regarded it the opposite of shame that she never reproduced that beauty. Love was not overrated, that was not her view. However, if it was only at age eight that she had the strength to reappear to the Earth, then that was the way it had been planned for her, and it was accepted with ease.

As she believed, with age came many things, wisdom being one, and acceptance being another.

It was with this mindset that she overcame her guilt her mother had passed onto her. Caji had told her stories of the destruction of the lands of Kamari, and Towne had wept. She knew these wolves would be bitter about this destruction, and so she hid from the world, cowering in her fear. Not anymore, she told herself, a touch of pride in her inner voice. It was her choice to come out of hiding now. If others she met judged her, called her a dog, who was she to care? It was not something she could change, and to hell with the creature who would judge her without cause.

As she neared Drarynough, Towne saw a wolf of striking appearance. He seemed a bit angry, and possibly lost. Then, the wolf spoke, and she listened, as she had grown proficient at. "You lousy shit,"

[/i] the voice said softly, but with a sound of frustration. Soon, he spoke again, and Towne's ears pricked to clear the sound. "Show me game, I'll kill it. Show me an enemy, I'll probably kill him too. Give me a forest, and I'll get good and lost in it."[/i]

Towne almost laughed at the male, but kept her mouth shut, and simply emerged from the brush and forest that shielded her. "Now," she spoke, her voice graceful and bell-like. "No need to talk down on yourself. Lleingas is easy to get lost in." As a blanket of fog swept around her legs, the charcoal femme slowly lowered herself onto her haunches, fighting a wince as she did so. With that simple motion, she urged to let the male know that she was no threat, just simply a listener.

Which was, in fact, exactly what she was.

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ooc. This reply is postponed until further notice.

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